


#13: Leather jacket

by RocioWrites



Series: 20 words [13]
Category: CLAMP - Works, Tokyo Babylon, X -エックス- | X/1999
Genre: Canon Divergence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Minor Character Death, Original Character Death(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 18:22:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6968827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RocioWrites/pseuds/RocioWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The black leather jacket is all splattered in blood and <em>flesh</em> and it's disgusting. This guy was young, had so much to live for... And he went and crossed paths with Subaru and Death Himself personified by the Sakurazukamori and look what a mess his dead body is now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	#13: Leather jacket

**Author's Note:**

> This is set years after Tokyo Babylon but years before X/1999 – never mind that canon fact that Seishirou and Subaru haven't seen each other during all that time in between.
> 
> Warning for alcohol consumption, a bit of suicidal thoughts and tendencies mentioned, warning for Seishirou being an abusive/manipulative creepy asshole but that's canon so if you were able to stomach the manga, I wouldn't worry too much. Also, warning for original character death, nothing graphic though.

Seishirou – the _real_ Seishirou, mind you – has always seemed so huge in comparison. Yes, he has always been taller than Subaru but that wasn’t it. Seishirou behaved like he was huge, important and untouchable under that innocent harmless facade – he _is_.

Subaru fell for it. As much as he fell for the sweet understanding facade.

He fell for a man that broke him and murdered his beloved sister, he thinks absentmindedly, the alcohol a bit too much for him to properly suppress this train of thought. He lets the bartender refill his glass and drowns it in long, bitter sips. He’s drunk and that’s why his sluggish brain goes over and over again about this – about Seishirou.

The Sakurazukamori.

He lights a cigarette, silently ignoring the music and chatting in the air. It’s oppressive being here but he can’t force himself to stand right now, legs weak and mind tired. He watches the back of his hands, feels the marks there, dull pain always present.

For a moment he wonders if everyone can see the inverted stars as clearly as he can, scorching his skin in the most uncomfortable way. However, that’s all he has left of him – except for fake or unpleasant memories.

He could laugh, maybe. Laugh at his own hurt and desperation, at the fact that he still treasures those memories even if they’re lies, even if they’re nasty. This is all Seishirou allows him, the tall, untouchable Seishirou – the one that smiles sharp and predatory. The one that makes Subaru tremble and pray for something he can’t name.

That’s why when Suzuki shows interest in him he says nothing, lets him buy him another drink, attempts a smile that comes a lot more easily than normally if only because Subaru is already drunk. He can’t escape the names that start with an S or the tree in them but he can escape everything else it seems.

Suzuki is non-threateningly shorter than Subaru, for a few centimeters at the very least – Subaru doesn’t have to look up this time, the other doesn’t tower above him. He has dark brown eyes that go well with dyed blond hair and informal clothes, a leather jacket that has more business belonging to a punk than this sweet guy but no black or gray or unreasonably cheerfully colored suits, that's what matters. He’s Subaru’s age, early twenties, and smiles brightly, friendly. He has no magical power whatsoever, of that Subaru is sure – no one here has it, he makes sure to check that before entering any place.

Suzuki’s voice isn’t smooth and grave as Seishiou’s was – still _is_. He sounds so young and vibrant and simply happy to be alive, something Subaru has trouble grasping. But it’s nice. He sounds half nervous and half expectant as he offers to buy Subaru a drink, as he tries to make conversation.

He nods slowly and accepts, humming here and there to show he’s listening. He’s not but the other doesn’t need to know it and Suzuki probably should be able to tell he’s in no condition to make friends. It’s not as if Subaru is considering taking the man home, what for? It won’t make Seishirou suddenly care about him and it won’t help his mood either.

“You can call me Satoshi if you want.”

He hums noncommittally.

The cigarette smoke dances around the edges of Suzuki’s excited words, Subaru sees nothing else to do here when smoking and drinking is done. Besides, a few more glasses and he’ll probably sleep it off all night which only serves to invite nightmares to plague him.

“I have to go.” He slurs, still inspecting the back of his hands.

He feels lightheaded as if he could fly or disappear at any moment. That’d be nice though, fade painlessly and gradually, first his abused feet and legs, then his head, shoulders, chest and midriff because it feels as if those are the only body parts having him grounded; lastly, his arms and hands, kissed, harmed and irremediably marked by the Sakurazukamori.

Suzuki says something, his lips move, smiling tenderly and hopefully. He’s asking something out of Subaru, he’s nervous – in contrast with a confident, magnanimous Seishirou. It’s kind of cute, he thinks.

“What?”

“Ah! I was asking you if you’re okay enough to leave alone. Do you want me to go with you?”

“No.” And the way his expression falls, spirit crushed is enough for Subaru to frown – he doesn’t feel quite like himself, he blames it on the alcohol and Seishirou. “Okay.” He replies at last and those eyes light up much like he did with his cigarette. That analogy shouldn’t really work, he muses, but Suzuki is smiling and standing so he forgets it quickly.

He takes the offered hand, swaying only a bit. The floor seems to be moving under him, he could giggle if he weren’t so focused on not tripping with his own feet, legs wobbly.

“Uh… you’re quite drunk.” Suzuki comments hesitantly.

“Yes.”

“I better get a taxi then.”

*

His apartment hasn’t seen anyone since the delivery of the lonely couch, not living people at least since a spirit or magical entity here and there are occupational hazards. The place isn’t untidy but it hasn’t been properly cleaned in a long time. He inserts the key and opens the front door in less than three minutes, it definitely counts as a small victory because standing still to extract said key from his pocket took almost twice as that. Suzuki smiles out of politeness, Subaru _knows_ of that kind of smiles, the ones that aren’t real but aren’t fake either, the type of smile that makes his eyes scream of doubt and uncomfortableness.

“Sorry for the mess.” He basically throws the door open once it’s unlocked, Suzuki catching his arm to prevent him slamming face first into the floor. The effects of alcohol make him unworried about insignificant dangers such as that – well, Subaru has always lacked survival instincts after all.

“Are you okay?” Suzuki’s tone sounds quite worried while he helps him walk inside.

The apartment is dark, only the light filtering through the window and the open door help him distinguish the kind of expression the other is wearing.

“Yes.” He pauses. “No.” He corrects after two seconds. “No, I am not.” It’s too honest, too raw, Suzuki shouldn’t know – he’s not Seishirou and that’s why he’s here, why Subaru is confessing. “And I never will.”

Suzuki blinks, perplexed. “I’m sorry.” He whispers and comes closer, never letting his arm go. “Why? Is there something I can help you with?” He sounds so candid with his young and sincere voice, brown eyes that aren’t sharp and deadly at all.

He could cry. He looks down onto real harmless eyes, expression soft and child-like. Suzuki is someone who hasn’t seen death or pain, Subaru can tell. He’s not pure but he’s not like Subaru – nothing like Seishirou either.

No, there’s nothing Suzuki can do to help. No one can help. There’s no help, nothing to do. Subaru is doomed and Seishirou won’t ever care.

He just brought a man into his place while drunk, what was he supposed to do now? Despite the fact that he used to be naive, he knows what two adults _do_ when they go back to one’s house. He never did it though, everything is meaningless since… the end of The Bet. Since Hokuto’s death. Without her encouraging him to live his life everything is meaningless, colorless, absurd.

“Is there something I can do?” Suzuki repeats carefully as if expecting Subaru to get scared and bolt.

“I haven’t brought anyone to my apartment before.” He answers in autopilot.

He’s still lightheaded and the marks feel like they’re pulsing, calling Seishirou. This is so awkward that Subaru cringes inwardly and if he were sober he would be finding a way out.

“That’s no problem.” Suzuki tells him merrily, smile widening.

“I haven’t kissed anyone ever.” He continues because what’s there to stop him if his common sense has left him too? The other opens his mouth but Subaru cuts him off as he keeps babbling. “I’m twenty _and_ a virgin. Is that pathetic?” _Is that pathetic when I’m obsessed with one man in particular?_ he wants to ask. _A man that’s supposed to kill me but I’m not even worthy of such little mercy_. “I don’t— I can’t—”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t.” That sounds terribly petulant even in his own ears, he can’t stop himself nonetheless.

“Yes, it is. I can fix it.”

_No, you can’t_. The response gets stuck in his throat as he sees Suzuki’s face coming closer. _Oh_.

They never get to kiss though.

Fluorescent light floods the room in a rush, every surface becomes visible showing the emptiness that it’s his apartment. However, there’s a shadow right at the door, large and intimidating – huge like only Seishirou can be. Suzuki sucks in a breath, startled. Subaru, on the other hand, can’t be shocked anymore.

“Well, well. Do I interrupt something?” It comes off as amused. That voice, charming and steady, flows effortlessly until it reaches them.

Dressed in all black, eyes unreadable under sunglasses at this late hour of the night, hands in pockets, lips twisted in an amicable smile. He’s the silhouette of Death.

It’s been years and it still feels the same.

Subaru stops— all his body stops, shoulder and hands burning unpleasantly. His heavy and hollowed heart stops also. Suzuki is unwillingly trapped in an imbalanced game of power dynamics where he doesn’t belong, it should scare him even if Seishirou’s smile seems easy and sugary.

“You can’t be here.” Drops right out of his tense mouth. Seishirou _shouldn’t_ , that’s why the wards around the place are for and they haven’t been broken – Seishirou just… slipped inside. Without him noticing. And isn’t that an appropriate parallel since that’s the way Seishirou appeared in his life? “How?”

Suzuki looks from one to another, watching the figure standing in the doorway warily in spite of not knowing him. Probably he has better survival instincts than Subaru.

“Ah, but Subaru-kun.” The familiarity is a knife stabbing at Suzuki’s vain attempt of wooing him. “What would your dear, proper Grandmother think if she knew you’re bringing complete strangers home while you’re… incapacitated?” He’s taunting him, enjoying the atmosphere of total despair around him. He’s enjoying the fact that Subaru isn’t all there due to the alcohol.

“I’m a good guy!” Suzuki protests vehemently, grip tightening around his arm. And he had forgotten that he was still holding him, probably the only reason why he’s not on the floor now.

“I bet you are.” Seishirou says as if nothing can bother him. “But you were about to kiss him when Subaru-kun is too drunk to consent.”

Suzuki is taken aback and somewhere deep in his mind Subaru wonders…

“You’re hurting me.” He adds weakly as Suzuki’s hold tightens one more time. The other lets go immediately.

“Sorry.”

He turns directly towards Seishirou, no one else has ever demanded so much attention from him. “Since when do you care about consent?” That’s probably the least of his concerns though.

“You wound me.” Seishirou replies not sounding wounded at all, smile morphing into a disgusting, irritating grin. “Must I remind you I never did to you anything you didn’t want me to?”

Hot, red anger rises from the pit of his stomach spreading everywhere, he wants to throw up and punch that smirk off of him at the same time.

Seishirou laughs inconsiderately, dismissing the fury in his green eyes and dismissing in an even more clear fashion Suzuki’s presence. “I’ll concede it to you, what happened that time in my hospital room may have been a bit dubious, yes.”

“A bit dubious?” Suzuki squeaks, eyes wide as a saucer.

Subaru deflates instantaneously at the mention of that day, expression deadpan, a void in his chest.

“You’re still here.” Seishirou murmurs in reference to Suzuki in the same way someone would speak about a speck of dust, annoying but ultimately inconsequential. “You should go.” He orders, lips tight.

“N—no.” There’s no confidence in there, fear dripping from the monosyllable. “I don’t think I can. What you just said— It sounded like you— Are you implying that—?”

“Oh, my bad.” It’s surreal, Subaru feels like he isn’t present at all, he’s a ghost, a shell of the person he used to be, his consciousness is out of his body, watching, suffering, clinging to hopes he should have killed long ago. “I didn’t explain properly, right?” Seishirou takes just one step forward, he’s inside the apartment now, every magical ward shrilling shattered. Suzuki swallows against the lump in his throat, terrified. “I wasn’t giving you an option. I wasn’t asking.”

The inverted stars scream loudly inside his mind, they’re probably showing up on his skin now; however, the other is too busy being mentally bullied by Seishirou to notice. His heart pounds furiously fast-paced, he’s afraid for Suzuki, he’s nervous about Seishirou being here.

“I—”

“Go.” Suzuki gives Subaru a quick glance but he can’t utter anything that’ll protect him, he’s better off following Seishirou’s order. “Now.”

That’s the last time he’s going to see Suzuki Satoshi. Alive at the very least.

The door remains open as the scared man hurries past Seishirou without looking up or back, running as soon as he can – away, fast, _save yourself_.

“Why are you here, Seishirou-san?”

He removes his sunglasses and hangs them off of his breast pocket, smile back to mirthfully innocent. “Can’t I visit my dear Subaru-kun?” _No, no you can’t. You’re only wrecking me beyond any semblance of repair. No, you can’t do this to me._ He shakes his head in negation instead. “Why? Haven’t I just saved you from that guy trying to take advantage of you?”

He wants to wipe that pleasant smile that makes his stomach do somersaults but when he reaches for his ofudas, Seishirou is right in front of him, grabbing both his arms. He’s always been a prey, he’s always been living in this limbo between being marked by the Sakurazukamori and still being incomprehensibly alive.

_You’ve never saved me_. However, that would be such a blatant lie. “Are you here to finally kill me?”

Mismatched eyes study him, neutral and pensive. “You're too drunk.” He releases his arms and attacking the other flies to the bottom of Subaru’s mind. “You’re really skinny, Subaru-kun. Are you eating well?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“You’re acting so recklessly self-destructive lately.”

“I’m not— That’s not— _not_ what I’m doing.”

Seishirou arches an eyebrow, disbelieving.

They’re so close that if he were again that sixteen year old boy he once was, he’d be blushing and taking a step back, hearing the distant laugh of his sister, still alive at the moment. He swallows the nausea and steps forward, hands in tight fists, eyes focused on that almost worried expression Seishirou is wearing. His heart and lungs ache and the urge to cry is back in full force.

“It’s exactly what you’re doing.” Seishirou accuses and erases all trace of that godawful faked concern, replaced by his equally fake and friendly smile. “Your Grandmother must be very troubled.” He mocks. Subaru’s Adam’s apple bobs anxiously, eyes darting away for a minute. “With your uncontrolled behavior.”

“I may be uncontrolled.” He whispers, a stutter of breath caught in his throat. “And if I am, it’s all your fault.” It feels good to say it to his face, to have Seishirou’s eyes wrinkle at the corner and the thin line of his lips straightening out.

“Oh?” And there's a hollow humor in the word. He can’t explain himself better, Subaru can’t find it in him to do more than stare at Seishirou and will himself not to cry, knots of hot disgust pooling and twisting in his insides. “You have changed.” Seishirou adds finally, slowly, phrase falling out of his lips as if he's praising Subaru.

“I have.” He utters, a weak affirmation. “I have been changed.” _By Hokuto's death. By your unavoidable indifference._ He clenches his fists even harder, nails digging into the flesh of his palms. "But I'm still here, alive." _And Hokuto isn't and you refuse to kill me and—_

“Such a pity.” Subaru chokes out a soft _no_ and Seishirou smiles, sweetly, cocking his head to the side. “That you've changed.” He elaborates. “Although I must say you're still this beautifully broken.” He lifts a hand to caress repugnantly tender at his cheek. “I do like it.” There's an underlying malice, deathly glance piercing through his own dull green eyes. There's a burning sensation in his chest at the smile that could look so harmless if Subaru didn't know better. “I do.”

He's lost in those enigmatic eyes, there's nothing to hide here, they both know it. Seishirou sighs and shakes his head while letting his hand fall limp at his side, a funny reprimanding expression on his face. And then he's the one taking a step forward and Subaru can feel Seishirou's body heat now, the way his chest is expanding and contracting with every breath – it makes him shiver. Maybe he's really that drunk, or maybe he's hallucinating. Or maybe this is it and merciless Sakurazukamori is here to end it. _Finally. Please._ The hand moves again and this time he's taking Subaru's left hand.

A chaste kiss lands on his mark, the inverted star glowing and burning. It takes his breath away, lungs and heart still and aching. Seishirou doesn’t let go of his hand, Subaru feels hot breath tickling the same spot that was kissed. It’s sobering, it makes him whine low in his throat, eye stinging and ready to cry. This is overwhelming, the warm hand holding his, the proximity, the drunken stupor he worked himself into, the soft smile the other is giving him.

“You should take better care of yourself.” Seishirou finally says, breaking the spell, allowing Subaru to claim his hand back. He swallows against the lump in his throat. “This isn’t the end yet, there are a few years left.” He continues as if he’s imparting some secret cosmical joke. He might as well.

Subaru feels it in his bones, in his trembling weak flesh. “I’m not self-destructive.” He protests.

“What you do proves you wrong.” And it’s not a comment intended to hurt, he knows it by the way Seishirou’s good eye glints, he’s stating a truth that intrigues him.

“No.” A part of Subaru wishes they were even closer so he didn’t have to see the other’s face.

“What were you even thinking? Drinking and bringing a stranger home?” Maybe they could still be holding hands, _is that too ridiculous?_ “You’re not fifteen anymore, Subaru-kun. Hokuto-chan isn’t here to protect you anymore.”

And that does it. Red anger flashes hot through his veins, arms moving on their own accord, reaching for the ofudas in his pockets – it takes a second and when he throws them, Seishirou isn’t there anymore.

The empty space mocks him too. The rain of pink petals mocks him, sweet smell invading his nostrils overpowering the nicotine in the air, heavy and disgusting.

He chokes on his own tears, wanting to scream and claw his flesh right out of his body.

The ofudas fall silently from his hands. The door closes itself, a rush of hollow emotion makes him walk robotically towards the sofa – he doesn’t bother to turn off the lights, it’s annoying like this so he leaves them on as if it were some punishment. He sits, body heavy and sighs, tired, deadly tired. He rubs his eyes, wondering if this was all a drunken dream. However, the aching in his bones and the markings tell him it’s not, the lingering scent of Seishirou tells him it’s not a dream at all.

Subaru can’t reconcile with his self-destructive side, he thinks. Probably because he can’t admit to having such a side.

He takes a cigarette and smokes in silence, wishing he had the strength to go after Seishirou. Wishing he had the strength to be more than self-destructive, to be downright suicidal.

He doesn't, he isn't.

*

*

The leather jacket is the first thing he notices— he _recognizes_ it, and it blows the air right out of his lungs. The whispers of the police officers behind him, a mere dull background noise. It's funny – although it really isn't – because he doesn't remember paying that much attention to it. The height and soft features, yes. The way Suzuki was dressed? Not at all.

_You were dunk_ a nasty voice supplies in his head and it sounds a lot like Seishirou's mocking tone. It's sweet and venomous and spreads heated hate through his guts.

The black leather jacket is all splattered in blood and _flesh_ and it's disgusting. This guy was young, had so much to live for... And he went and crossed paths with Subaru and Death Himself personified by the Sakurazukamori and look what a mess his dead body is now.

Subaru wants to puke and go back in time. But then again, he couldn't save Hokuto, he couldn't protect her when she meant so much – how has he supposed to protect Suzuki?

The head of the investigation, a somber man in his middle forties, is talking, slow and with a heaviness in his words that comes with too much sorrow. Subaru isn't listening, eyes fixed on the hole in Suzuki's chest, the stare-less eyes still open and the mouth slack with a scream stuck in a voiceless throat.

He somehow remembers the blue patch of clothing in the left elbow, now a piece of useless fabric, now dyed brown by dry blood. He remembers the mop of bleached hair and the friendly eyes.

He remembers not caring about him.

“You know why you're here, right Sumeragi-sama?” And the utmost respect sounds so hollow at this early hour of the dawn. Subaru nods mechanically, unable to look away from the scene. “But it can't be.” A pause. “Because if it really was the Sakurazukamori there wouldn't be a body left. Right?”

_Ah but it can be_. And it is. _It is_. Of that much, Subaru is sure.

A strange feeling of relief washes over him because no one knows Suzuki was in his apartment, they don’t know Subaru is the reason for this innocent young man to be dead. He angered Seishirou, and the Sakurazukamori unleashed that fury on Suzuki.

The Inspector (what is his name again?) looks at him and doesn’t say a thing, probably thinking Subaru is doing something important, sensing magic or whatever silly fairy tale the others believe an onmyouji does to help solve murders. Truth is, Subaru is paralyzed by hate and disappointment and more emotions Seishirou evokes in him – and he shouldn’t.

He feels the guilt alongside every breath while he recites, he can’t muster the energy to do more than to pull a few hand signs to ensure this poor soul rests in peace. Light floods the place for a few seconds, drawing attention from other police officers. However, as soon as it starts, it stops. Subaru sees the shadow twirl almost happily in the air and ascend.

He feels sick.

“What do you think, Sumeragi-sama?”

“He wasn’t fed to The Tree.” He doesn’t explain it further. Whether the man (Narita? Or some similar last name) knows about the Sakura Tree linked to the Sakurazukamori or not, it’s not his business. “He was a message for someone.” And it’s a deadpan tone.

_To me. It was a message to me. Seishirou killed Hokuto, killed Suzuki and I'm still alive and it's not fair—_

“Like some cheap Yakuza?” Inspector Narita asks, repulsed and annoyed. “And who’s the receiver of this... message?”

“I wouldn’t know.” He's tired, exhausted of years playing with Seishirou and he still doesn’t know the rules. “The Sakurazukamori has a lot of enemies. And he works for the government too.” What he tries to imply, Inspector Narita doesn’t question, he simply looks at Subaru and then at the dead body.

“Suzuki Satoshi. 21. Student. Worked with his mother in the family flower-shop.” The man recites, forcing himself to sound emotionless. “Doesn’t seem like he was involved in something dangerous, if you ask me.”

Subaru nods. It doesn’t seem like that because it wasn’t like that. “Maybe he was in the wrong place at the wrong moment.” And that’s as much information as he's willing to offer.

Inspector Narita hums and shoves his hands in his pockets, nodding at the possibility. “Could be.”

“I’m sorry I can’t help much.” Subaru bows, feeling drunk again and disgusting. Above all, he’s disgusting. He hides it, he can’t let this be a victory to Seishirou. “But I know for sure it was the Sakurazukamori. His intentions or motives, on the hand...” He trails off.

No one can ever guess his real intentions.

The man nods again, turning away from what’s left of Suzuki. “If you come across more information or find something out that’s relevant to this case, you know where to find me.”

“Of course.”

A last look and they’re both walking away, the pre-morning sunlight making every wound and blood stain visible. Subaru hears a few surprised murmurs and some rookie is throwing up in the trash-can at the corner.

“Is the scientific police here?” Inspector Narita barks, an unprepared officer squeaks before yelling a _Yes, Sir!_ “Send them already.” Another _Yes!_ and a few persons in lab coats with suitcases rush towards the scene. It seems to satisfy Narita's order.

Subaru watches the busy movements for a moment before he can’t take it and has to look away. Suzuki didn't deserve this, he shouldn't have crossed paths with Seishirou, ever. The pit of his stomach burns, self -hatred installing there and in his lungs.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.” He chokes out, and if the Inspector finds it odd, he doesn’t say.

“It’s okay. Thank you for coming either way.”

Subaru shakes his hand and repeats the promise of coming to look for him if there’s any new lead.

He doesn’t say he’s the new lead, that Suzuki was more than innocent and it’s Subaru's fault the Sakurazukamori killed him. He doesn’t say he’s the one who should be lying haphazardly in a pool of blood, he’s the one who should have been murdered.

Instead of Suzuki.

Instead of Hokuto.

It’s his fate. And he’s still alive. And Seishiou still plays with him.

He briefly considers going to that bar again – or any other for that matter. But what for? What is he hoping will happen?

_You don’t mind me killing innocents if only you get to talk_ _to_ _me for a few minutes_. It’s that voice, in his mind, sounding just like Seishirou, punishing him. He wants to scream and deny it all.

He walks silently to his apartment, to smoke in peace and wait for his next case. Wishing against all odds that Seishirou would show up to finish this for real.

He is, after all, very much sick.

**Author's Note:**

> According to this page http://surnames.behindthename.com/names/usage/japanese, Suzuki means "bell tree" from suzu, meaning "bell", and ki, "tree". Hence the comment about being unable to escape from names related to trees.


End file.
